The Risk Series 5: A Christmas Risk
by KSPretenderFan
Summary: What does Christmas and the Holidays have in store for John and Zoe; and a wee bit of Lionel and Rhonda. Part 5 of Risk Series
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Calling it a Christmas risk is stretching it a bit. Not much adventure or a plot, just some funnies that SWWoman made me write. **

**AN2: Thanks to SassyJ for quick beta.**

* * *

**A Christmas Risk**

**Chapter 1:**

"He's a professional what?"

"Santa. He dresses up every December to usher in the season, spreading cheer and appearing in family photos. They inspire magical thinking, offer hope and keep innocence alive . . ."

"Well who would want to kill Santa?"

"He's a 'seasonal Santa', during the off months, he's an accountant. Jerry Daniels is fifty-four, runs his own accounting firm, married to his wife Linda for nearly thirty years. Two boys, aged twenty-four and twenty. It looks like he may have been getting ready to blow the whistle on one of his clients; we just don't know which one."

* * *

John trudged along the snow covered streets of New York shadowing one part-time Santa. Every corner, department store, hell, everywhere he looked there was a man in a red suit belly out, proud to represent the storied tradition of jolly old St. Nick. As ho-ho-ho's, jingle bells, and Christmas carols echoed around him, he remembered that as a child, he loved the holidays. What child wouldn't? This time of year, people actually smiled as they went about their lives.

Reaching his destination, John slipped off his gloves, cringed and walked into the department store right after Jerry. This close to the holidays, there were hoards of people milling about, some frantic, others not so much.

Flicking his ear bud he asked; "Finch, a Santa in women's lingerie?"

_How am I going to blend in here? _John thought to himself, as he noticed that although the other departments were bustling with customers; the women's lingerie department was, as far as the eye could see filled with racks and racks of lace, leather, silk, and cotton women's unmentionables but no customers.

_Unmentionables? What am I eighty? _

"Apparently, Mr. Reese, there are some women who have Santa fetishes. Store management believes it will encourage the women purchasing lingerie to give to the needy."

As if caught peeping through the hole in the girls locker room, John started and stopped to a halt, "A Santa what?"

"Fetish, Mr. Reese, some women have fantasies about Santa Claus." John was still dumbfounded at Finch's comment that he never noticed the woman who walked up to him.

Speaking of eighty, "Hi, I'm Nora, can I help you find something?" The sales woman gave him her undoubtedly best smile. All John could think was, _Mrs. Claus is in the Lingerie Department._

John, looking like a deer caught in headlights just stared at the woman. "Uh . . ."

Nodding her head as if she knew why he wasn't speaking, she asked. "Is this your first time?"

"Wh-what?" John felt the heat rising up his neck.

"Buying lingerie . . . "

John blinked. "I . . ." _Speak Reese, before you make a bigger ass of yourself._ John thought to himself as his heart pounded pitilessly in his chest. "Ah . . . no, not – not my first time."

"Great! Let's get started then! Are you looking for bras? Teddies? Baby Dolls?" Mrs. Claus - Nora asked.

Not knowing who Teddy was and that he was pretty sure Zoe didn't need a doll, she already had Milo, John replied, "Bras."

Nora led John towards the bra drawers and display and asked. "Size?"

John decided to put his hands in his pockets so as not to touch anything on their way to the bras. "Excuse me?"

"Her cup size?" At John's still confused look, Nora prompted. "Is she a lemon, an apple, an orange, a grapefruit, or is she bigger?"

John's mind was already a jumbled mess and this woman who made him think of someone's eighty year old grandmother wanted to talk about fruit? "Uh . . ."

Nora patiently smiled. "Are her breasts the size of a lemon, an apple, an orange . . . "

"Oh, uh . . ." John found himself raising his hands up thinking about Zoe's . . .

"Oh, she's a B-cup, apples dear . . . " Feeling like a naughty schoolboy, John dropped his hands to his sides, crossed and uncrossed his arms, then finally settled his hands into his pockets again.

His eyes scanned the floor for any potential risk; eyes darting between Santa and Mrs. Claus; his multitasking brain couldn't quite keep up and evidently missed her next question.

Nora was apparently used to uncomfortable and often distracted males purchasing women's undergarments. She sighed patiently. "Young man, I realize that it is difficult to put your libido away when you're surrounded by scanties, but remember you're buying the bra for her, not for yourself. So the question is . . . comfortable or sexy?"

"S-s-sexy". John stuttered for the first time in his life, palms sweaty.

Nora continued on to interrogate him for the next several minutes.

"What about coverage? And son, I don't mean a zone or man-to-man. I'm asking if your wife prefers to have her breasts fully covered or partially." John's mind wandered to his happy place and Zoe's . . .

"She's not my . . . uh . . . partially?" John was pretty sure his face was a bewildered mass the color of Santa's suit.

The torture continued as John's mind tried to barricade itself in his panic room.

Push up or not? According to Nora, that was a dangerous choice. You run the risk of insulting your woman by insinuating that she needed support when she doesn't think she does. And to John's utter mortification, Nora said something that he wished she hadn't. "And hon, when you're my size, you don't need a push up bra. You need a pull up bra." John seriously contemplated eating his gun.

Wireless? It's a comfort thing. Some women don't like the discomfort of having a wire digging into their skin. _Digging his eyeball out with said wire sounded more like his style than this._

Strapless? Nora advised him that he shouldn't worry about that unless the wife needed it for a special outfit. _Having my back ripped to shreds with a leather strap was much more enjoyable than fondling women's undergarments with Grandma Moses._

Front Closure? Color? That all depended on the woman you were buying for. _Zoe would get what she got and damn it, she was not going to pitch a fit. _

Matching Panty? _Who the hell cared? He didn't bother to match his socks to his boxers. Why would he care if her panties matched her bra? They always ended up on the floor anyway._

"Finch, are you hearing this?"

"Every word Mr. Reese. I personally would match the panties to the bra."

Relieved that Jerry looked as if he were packing up, John wasn't exactly sure what he told Nora but he ended up with a bag of women's undergarments, trailing after the busy part-time Santa. As much as he tried to push thought away, Nora's parting words rang in his ears.

"Remember, we have several styles of the vibrating panties if you think your wife would like them."

* * *

Detective Fusco knew he should have turned his phone off or threw the battery away. Damn it. It never ceased to amaze him that Wonder Boy had the uncanny knack of interrupting his private life. He had agreed to accompany Rhonda to the Children's Oncology Ward at New York General. She went to it every year to help the kids with cancer celebrate Holidays. She promised him falafel again as an incentive.

"This better be good." Lionel said as he answered his cell.

"Lionel. What size shoe do you wear?" John asked.

"What? Size ten, why?"

"Meet me in the alley behind the hospital," John commanded.

With a quick word to Rhonda, Lionel followed the stairs to the main floor and out the back. He took note that John was standing next to Santa Claus with a lump that looked like an elf. Lionel felt a sense of foreboding as he approached and saw that John was holding a green elf shoe in his hand.

As Lionel approached John looked at the shoe then at Lionel's feet. "Perfect."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: So more jollies (hopefully) in this chapter. A bit of syrupy mush. I think the only Christmas Risk here was to the children! Scarred for life because of Fusco's getup.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: **

John had finally caught up to Jerry behind the hospital. At that time, he had noticed the elf trying to put a bullet into Jerry, which led to his current predicament.

"What. The. Hell." Lionel said as he looked at John and the unconscious elf on the ground.

"There is no way in hell I'm wearing that," Lionel said motioning towards the elf.

"It's the only way Lionel."

"Why do I have to be the one?"

"Look at him . . ." John pointed to the unconscious form on the ground. Glancing at the elf, Lionel had to grudgingly admit that he was about the same size.

* * *

Lionel Fusco was in hell. With Wonder Boy involved, this was par for the course.

Puce colored pointy hat. _Fucking man in the suit; owes me big time. _Lionel thought.

Peter-pan collared jacket of the same puce color as the pointy hat, with fuzzy white trim at the collar and the wrist. It covered his barrel chest and the swirly gold snowflakes at torso, collar, and wrists accentuated his burly trunk well. _Fucking mutual friend my ass_.

The yellow and green horizontal striped tights showed the strength of his muscled but squatty legs, the jacket wasn't long enough and damn it; left little to the imagination. His boys were not happy with the constriction of the damn tights and worse yet, for being on display. _Son of a Nutcracker . . . Who came up with these torture devices anyway?_

Together with the curly-toed green elf shoes with bells, Lionel couldn't keep the phrase "Jingle my bells," out of his head.

* * *

Zoe was on the Children's Oncology Ward of New York General Hospital helping the children not lucky enough to be in remission to celebrate the Holidays. Since Katie's mom died, Zoe helped the nurses put on a big party for the kids. She had spent the last two days working tirelessly helping them to prepare for the Holiday party and had promised a few of the children that she would make sure that Santa made an appearance which was a treat for all the kids. They got to sit on Santa's lap and tell him their wishes.

Coming around the corner, Zoe saw Katie, her grandparents and a few others in the activity room singing carols, drawing, playing games, and waiting for Santa to arrive. The proof that Zoe's time wasn't wasted was evident. The activity room and in fact the entire ward was decorated with streamers, paper snowflakes, and fake snow. There was even a fake snowman in the corner of the activity room. He had a top hat, button eyes, a carrot nose, stick arms and a scarf. By the window of the activity room stood a huge Christmas tree that sparkled with multicolored lights.

"Is he here yet," a child excitedly asked.

Zoe smiled as she looked up from her perch on the window and made her way towards the group of children waiting for Santa. "Not quite, just a few more minutes."

Her phone chirped just as she finished reassuring the children. "Zoe Morgan."

* * *

Zoe wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't Jerry admitted into the same hospital that he was supposed to make an appearance as Santa.

"Jerry? How are you doing?" Zoe asked concern in her voice.

"Oh, could have been better Zoe. I'm real sorry, I can't play Santa tonight." After the fiasco with the elf assassin, Jerry had felt tightness in his chest which prompted John and Lionel, still dressed in the elf costume, to take him to the ER.

"Don't you worry about that, I can call the agency and get Fred to do it."

"That's the problem Zoe, John already called them and they are all out of Santas. And even if he could have gotten a Santa, Fred and I are the only ones that know those kids up there. I'm really sorry Zoe."

Patting Jerry's arm, she reassured him. "It's okay, Jerry, we'll just have to tell them that Santa will come tomorrow instead. Where did John go? I need to speak with him."

"Miss Morgan, I'm Detective Fusco, I'm here with Rhonda . . . John had to step away to take care of some other things. If there is anything I can do . . ."

Zoe looked at the elf, her eyebrow cocked. "Not in that get-up."

* * *

"Miss Morgan? Is everything okay with Santa?" Rhonda asked.

"No, Rhonda, unfortunately, Jerry couldn't make it tonight. I have to tell the kids that Santa will have to come tomorrow. We can probably get Fred to come."

"Aww, that's too bad, they worked so hard on the decorations and their snacks and treats for Santa."

As she was getting ready to make the announcement, the tinkling of bells caught Zoe's ear. "Did you hear that?" She asked Rhonda.

Some of the children must have heard the bells as well for several of them went to window to search the sky for Santa and his reindeer.

"Ho. . . Ho . . . Ho . . . Merry Christmas. . . " stiffly said and was barely heard, as Santa and his elf stepped inside the activity room.

Zoe's head snapped up at the familiar voice just in time to catch him marching past the children towards the chair that was set up for Santa. Without having to think about it, she immediately crossed the room towards Santa and the elf and grabbed his arm. "Sorry kids, Santa looks like he forgot his bag of presents, we'll be right back."

"John, what the hell?" Zoe motioned with her arms towards his red suit and fake facial hair.

"The agency was out of Santas. . . "

"I know, but Lionel was supposed to tell . . . " Zoe looked at the errant elf trying to look innocent. He just gave her a smirk and wink. Lionel was enjoying this. To finally pull one over on Wonder boy, was worth the backlash. All he had to do was hint a little about disappointed little kids, noted that John and Santa were about the same height, they could pad him to make him rounder. The hardest part was getting the beard. Jerry had the real-deal Santa beard. Lionel had to endure more humiliation as he left the hospital and went to the dollar store right down the street and found a decent looking Santa beard.

"Jerry knows all the kids in there. You marched in like a soldier called to the front lines." At Lionel's covered up laugh, Zoe turned to him.

"And you! Every child in there will be scarred for life. Find a way to cover your pocket rocket better."

"John, put your ear bud on, I need to talk to Harold."

* * *

"Santa!" The tiny voice of a little boy cried as he bolted from the windows and flung himself into John's arms. Tamping down his instinct to use an evasive maneuver on the mini adversary, John pulled the little boy stiffly into his arms as he listened to Zoe through his ear bud. _That's Brad Johnson, he's five. Tell him he's lucky to be going home soon. _

"Brad Johnson! I hear you get to go home soon." John replied, awkwardly putting the boy down and ruffling his head. _John, can you relax please? You're stiffer than your dress shirts._

"You've never complained about my stiffness before . . . " John parried under his breath as he was accosted by yet another knee-high assailant. "Santa!"

_Sammy Branson. She's three. Agree with her when she says she's almost four and that she's big._

"I'm almost four . . ." the little girl with the squeaky voice held up four fingers, ". . . and I'm a big girl Santa!"

"That you are . . ." John agreed with the pint-sized diva.

"Your cheeks are red," Sammy smiled cupping his face in her tiny hands as she kissed the end of his nose.

Clearing his throat in uncertainty, he clumsily patted the little girl's back.

Suddenly, the other children ran screeching towards John. Instead of flipping over a table, cocking his gun and calling for backup, John, with the ear bud and Zoe's help, greeted each of them by name with a squeeze and a tiny smile. Santa filled the next hour consuming vast amounts of sugar and fat a man his age shouldn't, but was genuinely offered.

To John's relief, one of the nurses finally announced that it was time to end the treats and time to read Santa their Holiday lists. This proclamation worked like a starter gun and sent the children scattering to get their lists.

John tracked Zoe as she glided her way across the room towards him. His eyes captivated by the sway of her hips. As met him in the middle of the room, the headiness of her perfume encompassed him. He swallowed as he felt his stomach drop to his feet thinking that he may have eaten too many sweets.

"Having fun Santa?" She grinned up at him.

"I thought that was obvious." John answered with huff.

"Thank you for doing this John." Zoe said quietly. "This made the kids happy."

John held her eyes with his and asked. "Does it make you happy?"

She smiled and said with honesty. "Yes, it does."

"Good," John whispered, leaning in close to give her a quick peck. It wouldn't do for the kids to see Zoe making out with Santa.

* * *

A big cozy chair was set up by the pretend fireplace and the children sat in a line waiting for their turn. John eased his way through to the front of the line to take his place in the chair. Lionel the elf stood at attention by his side. Zoe was relieved that the detective somehow found a way to make himself decent and not scare the poor children away.

He reached out his hands to the first child in line and took the little boy onto his lap. "So Brady, what did you want Santa to bring you for Holiday this year?"

"A twenty Piece Special Forces Army Action Figure Set," Timmy replied excitedly. "My daddy was in the army . . ." _His dad never made it back. Killed in action, two years ago. Same time Brady was diagnosed with leukemia._

"I'll do my best." John said reaching into the bag and pulling out a gift with Brady's name on it.

"Thank you Santa." Brady smiled, taking the present and hugging him tight, before hopping off his lap.

John watched as Brady opened his present and sure enough, he got just what he wanted. "How did you do that?"

_Learned a thing or two about reconnaissance work; get close to the target and let them talk._

Zoe, Rhonda and the nurses stood at the back of the room watching as each child got to sit on Santa's lap. Zoe couldn't help but smile at some of the wishes. They seemed simple enough to provide and she found out that she was a good listener. Shopping for dolls, bikes, trucks, books had been a pleasure for Zoe to do. She was amazed at how providing little things made the children happy. She realized that these children were as extraordinary as the conditions that had led them here. None of them asked to miraculously get better, although she knew they wanted that as much as anything. The simplest of things brought a smile to their faces, and to Zoe that was worth it. To give up a few weeks or days just to see those smiles of excitement and gratitude.

Zoe looked at little Sammy, who sat tolerantly at the end of the line. The little girl's eyes were filled with buoyant expectation as she watched the other's wishes come true. Finally, it was her turn. She walked right on up to John and even though John tried to help her up, she waved his hands away saying, "I can do it, I'm big," and slowly and carefully climbing up on his lap.

"Merry Christmas Sammy," John said. "What can Santa bring you for Christmas this year?"

With a beautiful smile, Sammy looked into John's eyes. "Santa, I don't want a toy," she announced.

_That little bugger, I got her a Chatty Cathy doll so she could have someone to talk to. And she didn't have a backup._

John gulped thinking they were in trouble if they couldn't pull through for Sammy. She leaned in closer to John and whispered. "Santa, I'm Jewish, so I don't need anything for Christmas. But, I want something for a friend."

At John's nod for her to continue, she said, "I want Miss Zoe to have a special Christmas present; something that will make her happy. She does lots stuff for us, but we don't do much for her."

John found a little smile on his lips as he heard a muffled sniff through his ear bud. "That will teach you," John said quietly.

_Oh Shut up._

"I'll certainly do my best." John answered.

"Thank you Santa," Sammy replied and gave John a big hug and a kiss on his cheek, then wiggled off his lap.

"Sammy." John called out to her.

"Yes, Santa."

"Even if you're Jewish, you still get a present," He said, holding out a small box.

She galloped back up to him and took the box from his hand. "Thank you."

* * *

Giggles and snickers could be heard all around them. "What're you kids laughing at?" Rhonda asked with mock irritation.

"Lionel the elf has to kiss you." Zoe said as she walked by.

"He does, does he?" Rhonda said.

"Make sure that thing covering the boys stays there okay?" Zoe said with a knowing quirk of her brow. "You're under the mistletoe. You get a kiss. And who knows, maybe more?" Zoe playfully wiggled her eyebrows at the school teacher.

Rhonda and Lionel looked up to find mistletoe hanging over their heads. Lionel fussed nervously and looked around, shuffling his feet. Rhonda, who decided it was her best chance to do again what she had been dreaming of since the stake out, smiled as she stepped forward, slipping her hands around his waist. And besides, she thought Lionel was hot elf.

"So, how about it Chippy?" Rhonda asked softly.

"Well, I guess it's tradition, who am I to argue?" Lionel smiled, pulling her to his barrel chest and planting one right on her.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: And syrupy mush galore in this chap. If you're not a zoe/john shipper and are just being nice to the author and reading this fic, you may skip, or keep a trash can handy in case you need to toss your cookies.

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

Comfortable in their silence, they walked down the street holding hands. They felt as if they could do so openly since he was well disguised as Jolly Old St. Nick. He was neither jolly, nor old, nor saintly. Still with a fake beard and padded, John relished in the anonymity the disguise afforded him. He also now understood what drew these professional Santas to do what they did every season. It was the eyes that had gotten to him. The way the children's eyes would light up made him feel as if he were doing something good and special. That delight exuded from not just the children but their parents, friends, and grandparents. Even though it sounded trite, being a Santa Claus brought out the Holiday Spirit.

"Are you humming?" Zoe asked in surprise.

"The man in the red suit is humming. . ." said the man in the suit.

"Hmm. All those sweets must have addled your brain," Zoe teased, pondered his humming then started humming along with him. It earned her a surprised look in return.

It never ceased the amaze him the new things he learned about this woman everyday. Zoe was honest to a fault, loyal and put up with far more than she should. A fighter, she got back up and fought for what she wanted over and over again, even though every time she had tried before, she lost. She was understanding and patient, yet, abrasive and took the bull by the horns. She gave respect, and expected it in return. And she was giving, generous to the max not just with money, but with her time, and her resources. Zoe needed something to remind her that she was a good person. One who made a difference, because for all the good she did, there was always that seed of doubt that she didn't do enough.

* * *

"Fusco knew I didn't need to get into the Santa suit." John declared around a piece of croissant.

Sitting across him on the floor, on a blanket, for an impromptu picnic, Zoe rolled her eyes. "Jesus! Yes, John. How many times do I have to repeat it?"

"Payback's a bitch," he replied dryly.

"To be fair, you did make him put that ghastly elf suit on." she said, cringing at the memory.

"Doesn't matter. I live to torment the guy," he said defiantly.

"Boys," Zoe muttered as she shook her head in bafflement.

Zoe sighed then stood up and vanished into her room for a flash, reappearing with a hand behind her back.

"What are you hiding," he asked, motioning to her hand that was hidden.

"What's it worth to you," she teased then offered the stylishly wrapped package.

Smiling, he accepted the gift, "For me?"

"No. It's for Bear," she quipped staring at the floor, her cheeks turning pink.

John gracefully stood up and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Hang on a minute," he said as he made his way to his coat and pulled something out of the pocket.

She fidgeted nervously and bit her lip in expectancy then mumbled, "Oh, get a grip... You're not fourteen . . . for Christ's sake."

John returned quickly and handed her a similarly wrapped package, "This is for you."

"John, you didn't have to," she said.

"I wanted to," he replied simply.

She nodded as they sat next to each other to open their gifts.

"You go," she said, motioning at his box.

"Okay," he responded, having gotten quiet all of a sudden. Swallowing, he carefully peeled away the paper.

"It's a St. Michael's medallion," holding it up, he said softly knowing its meaning. The Archangel St. Michael was the patron saint of the warrior, the protector of those who strive to preserve security, safety and peace. Zoe called him a warrior once, months before.

"I can't be with you twenty-four-seven to save your sorry ass, I thought this will have to do," she said in true Zoe fashion.

"It's perfect," he said as he lifted the chain over his head, landing at just the right spot. Zoe had chosen the length of the chain so that it would lay right under the second button of his dress shirt. It was hidden from view but still protecting.

"Of course, knowing the derelicts you come across, they might use it to garrote you," she said with a slight quirk of her lip.

"They can try. Your turn," he announced.

She carefully opened her package to find a delicate chain made of white gold. It had two white gold beads that the chain went through. Each bead had initials inscribed. KW and MR. Katie Wilson and Madeline Rios.

"That is for you to remember that you, Zoe Morgan, made a difference in those girls' lives. You are their protector," he said meaningfully, cupping her cheek.

"Oh John," she whispered as she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, touched that the gruff, often stoic, single word using, former soldier gave her such a thoughtful gift.

"Shall I?" he asked gently.

Nodding slowly, she allowed him to place the necklace around her neck. It fit her perfectly.

"John, it's . . . where . . . how," she stuttered, still wrestling with an overpowering range of emotions.

Shrugging, he replied, "It's actually a mother's day pendant; which in a way is fitting."

Touching her forehead to his, she shut her eyes and whispered, "It's the most cherished thing I own. Thank you, John."

"Thank you, Zoe."

* * *

It began with a kiss, the simple touching of lips then continued to the soft nuzzling and tickling of her cheek with his impossibly long, thick eyelashes. Applying only the softest, gentlest pressure, he kissed behind her ears, her throat, and her chest. He wanted all of her, to give her everything. It felt wonderful, natural, and she kissed him, sighing as his hand crept down to cup her breast. She arched, pressed against him, and his fingers slipped under one strap of her bra, easing it down slowly, slowly. "Nora gave me good advice, don't you think," John said with a smirk; as he slowly peeled away her dainty red lace bra.

She grinned at him when she was completely bare. "How do you like them apples?"

He kissed her "apples" as he shaped and molded them with his palms and fingers, and moved his mouth down, lower, lower. He kissed the tender skin between her bellybutton and pubic bone. He ran his finger along the top edge of her panties, stroked his other hand down her thigh. She lifted her hips when he tugged her panties off. The matching set ended up on the floor, where he knew they would.

He gently explored and caressed her as she cried out deeply. As he crawled up her body, still stroking her, John kissed her hip, her shoulder, the delicate skin below her ear, and then met her mouth with his own. She kissed him eagerly, one arm winding around his neck, the other hand gliding across his hip, caressing him.

John wrapped his arms about her, surrounding her with his warmth. Their mouths met, gentle and sweet, and she sighed, pulling him closer. He made a line of kisses along her jaw, touching the lobe of her ear with his tongue, and Zoe tilted her head back to give him access. Zoe grabbed a hold of the sinewy, strong muscles on his back. So much strength, she thought, so much power. And yet all she was ever shown was tenderness. He was firm and hot and male, and she traced the ridged muscles of his washboard stomach.

He settled between her legs and gathered her wrists up above her head and holding them there. She watched him, eyes wide, as he moved inside her quietly, gently without a word. John pushed himself deeper inside her, and stilled both gasping at the intensity that continued to build. She reveled in the glorious movement, the deepening ingress and with heightened languor until he was fully inside her.

Despite her impatience, Zoe let him to set the tempo, to find the leisurely but assured rhythm. She surrendered to him, to the bliss, and she came first, panting his name pulling her captive arms free. She gripped his shoulders and back as she submitted to the pleasure. She felt adored because it felt like heaven. He began moving again and again. And when it was over he nestled her gently in his arms.

"Merry Christmas, Zoe," he whispered softly into her hair.

"Merry Christmas, John" she replied drowsily.

John slid one arm around her, and with his other hand he tugged at the blanket, covering them. Right then, right there, Zoe couldn't imagine being anywhere else. She could hear his heartbeat, gradually slowing; feel the rise and fall of his chest.

Tangled together, they slept.


End file.
